Sing
and shout, for theses are our crops, filled with souls.
It’s
somewhere a spirit, a kingdom of believers, to harness
and
feature missiles. I come to You out of breath, no
longer
seeking forgiveness, flogging an inner chamber. I see
us
there, filled with tears, falling, screaming, and rising.
There’s
another, drenched in God, probing a secret
volume.
I came in silent vagueness, to touch a core,
thrown
into devotion. Something is shared, reaching God,
retreating
come sundown. Give us light, our secrets of
light,
to mourn and see, and see and mourn. Such steady
faith,
a sphere of rites, a fulcrum soul; where life is mystic,
to
reap a fortress, tipping a candle’s flame. See a spark,
while
faint a grave, climbing a fathom high. Remnants
come,
a cycled war, a wounded dream. There’s room to
move,
a sacred glance, infused with leaping deers. So I come
to You, to feel
forgiveness, ever this fountain.
